


Don't Stop Til You Get Enough

by katzengefluster



Category: iKON (Kpop)
Genre: M/M, identity crisis smut is not something i ever thought i'd write, it's equal parts mindfuck and actual literal fuck, that bobby/bobby is not a typo btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10100147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katzengefluster/pseuds/katzengefluster
Summary: It's been a month of back and forth, Japan to Korea, Korea to Japan, so many performances he can't keep track of them all. Despite the exhaustion Bobby's still performing well—except in bed. Hanbin might be understanding and patient, but Bobby's subconscious isn't, and when Bobby wakes up and sees his own face staring down at him, he's got no choice but to go along with it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Would you believe I wrote Bobby/Bobby smut all because my bff ZombieCheeze made an offhand comment in a convo we were having about our matching Bobby plush dolls? It's true. That's just how my brain works.
> 
> I regret nothing.

Hanbin's pleading is what does Bobby in prematurely.  
  
“Fuck, _oppa_ , please please _please_ I'm so close!”  
  
He doesn't mean for it to happen (and maybe it's been happening a little too often lately for his liking) but Bobby just _can't hold it_ and suddenly he's tensing up and shooting his load, fingers digging into Hanbin's skin, his white knuckles and Hanbin's escaped curse telling him what he already knows—that the only thing Hanbin's going to get out of this will probably be bruised hips.  
  
Bobby just barely keeps himself up on shaking knees and wobbling arms (but God does he ever just want to collapse over Hanbin's back) and seconds after the pleasure recedes a tiny bit the guilt hits him like a hammer. Hanbin's resigned sigh feels like a slap in the face (deserved, of course) and Bobby bites his lip to keep from blurting out the same old apology.  
  
“Fucking hell, Bobby, you are _so lucky_ that I love you.”  
  
_I know, Hanbin, I know._  
  
Bobby rolls off of him, tries to ignore the sweet lull of sleep because he has to finish Hanbin off, he can't just leave him (even though it's a struggle to open his eyes and he feels like he's half asleep already).  
  
He can feel Hanbin shifting, moving around, and he blinks his eyes once, but his eyelids are so damn heavy that he closes them again.  
  
“Too tired to even take your condom off? What am I supposed to do with you?”  
  
If Bobby wasn't so tired (and consumed with guilt) he'd hear the laughter in Hanbin's voice, and he'd look up to see that his gaze holds nothing but affection. Instead all he hears is the irritated complaint, his muddled brain mistaking Hanbin's playful tone for his angry one.  
  
“Hmm? Do I have to finish myself off?”  
  
_I don't deserve you, I'm so sorry._  
  
“I should cum on your face, shouldn't I?” Hanbin's straddling his chest and Bobby can feel the heat from one of Hanbin's hands as he cups his face, thumb rubbing over his cheek softly. Bobby hums with pleasure at the contact, he wants to fall asleep like this _so bad_ , he's so tired.  
  
“Ah fine, you're no fun, go to sleep.”  
  
The pressure is gone then, Hanbin's gotten off the bed, and Bobby whines for him without meaning to. Hanbin leans down and kisses his forehead, nuzzles his nose into Bobby's cheek for a minute before standing back up.  
  
“Promise I'll be right back, this honestly won't take long!”  
  
Bobby can barely hold on to himself at the moment, the need to sleep pulling him under bit by bit and it's only his guilt that keeps him awake (that guilt is the same thing that's been interrupting his sleep lately too; it's been nothing but a vicious circle). After what feels like an eternity there's a dip in the other side of the bed that means that Hanbin's back, and Bobby turns in his direction.  
  
“Bin,” he calls, his voice barely more than a whisper, “where'd you go?”  
  
Hanbin laughs at him and settles down beside him, pulling Bobby into his arms. “The bathroom, you idiot. Couldn't sleep with that hard on.”  
  
“Mm, I was gonna help...” Bobby drifts off from his sentence at the end, interrupted by his own need to yawn.  
  
Hanbin laughs again.  
  
“Nah babe, really not down with the idea of fucking you in your sleep. Honestly it's okay, it was really good right up until that premature ending.” Hanbin tucks his arm around Bobby's back and presses his lips against Bobby's forehead, chuckling a little when Bobby whines.  
  
“Sorry, Bin,” he tries to say more, but Hanbin cuts him off.  
  
“Stop apologizing, it's okay, I know you're exhausted. Honestly it's my fault, I should have just blown you and let you sleep, but no, I had to be selfish!” Hanbin cuddles him again, presses a flurry of little kisses to his skin, and Bobby doesn't know what he's ever done to deserve someone like Hanbin. “All that back and forth between Japan and Korea for your extra promo, and then you come back to your demanding boyfriend.”  
  
Bobby wants to argue, wants to tell him that he deserves so much more, but he's feeling so comfortable in Hanbin's warm embrace, soft and safe and sated.  
  
“I'm just happy to have you back in bed with me; I missed you.” Hanbin's kissing him again, lips soft on his forehead and fingers tracing indistinct patterns over his back, and all it takes is one softly muttered _I love you_ for Bobby to drop into a blissful slumber, sighing softly in his sleep when Hanbin's fingers settle over his cheek again.  
  


* * *

  
Bobby wakes up to the feeling of someone standing behind him, breath tickling his ear, and the sense of apprehension in his gut is so strong that he's almost afraid to turn over to see who it is.  
  
“Just look at him, he's so perfect.”  
  
The voice confuses him for a moment, it sounds so familiar but he can't place it, but more importantly is the concern over what the voice is saying—who would dare talk about Hanbin like that to him, voice tinted inappropriately with lust?  
  
“He's so beautiful, gorgeous, every bit of him tight and hot. He's so out of your league.”  
  
_He is, he really is--_  
  
“Don't you think he deserves something better? Someone better?”  
  
Bobby nods, because despite wanting to protest, deep down he fears that the voice speaks nothing but the truth.  
  
“You've felt that way from day one, I know you have, Jiwon. And you're right. You're not good enough for him.”  
  
_Who the fuck?!_ The mystery is killing him, he desperately wants to turn around and face his accuser, but some part of his brain recognizes the voice and it won't let him look, won't let him see.  
  
“I should teach you what it takes, shouldn't I? I should show you _exactly_ what he deserves, what you could give him if you were _better.”_  
  
Bobby's riddled with confusion and doubt and he suddenly _doesn't_ want to look, he's afraid to see who it is behind him speaking every concern he thought he'd tucked away in his brain. He knows that once he turns around he can't take it back, can't unsee it, that it'll be burned into his brain, that every moment from here on out will remind him of this, will make him see--  
  
His own face?  
  
He's not sure how it happens (he doesn't remember moving at all) but he's on his back, the weight of _his own body_ settled heavily on his chest. His own sneering face looks down at him, and it's not someone he recognizes, it's himself but not _himself_ and--  
  
“Ah, Jiwon! How did you ever make it at anything, I wonder? So much self-doubt, so little confidence. It's pathetic. You're pathetic. You think he loves you? When you can't even satisfy him?”  
  
Bobby's frozen, the words hurt, God they hurt _so much_ but he can't dispute them, he can't do anything right now except _agree._  
  
“He deserve so much better, doesn't he?”  
  
Bobby nods, because _it's true._  
  
“He has you, but what he needs is _me.”_  
  
A hand clamps over his mouth at the exact second that he feels a finger pushing into him, roughly without lube, and God it _hurts_ but it _feels so good_ and he can't help but roll his hips against him, against _himself_ and it's his own dark eyes looking down at him.  
  
“Mm, it feels good, doesn't it?” He nods because the hand is still pressed tightly against his lips, so tight he can't speak, can't make any sound at all, can't even breathe--  
  
“That's it, give it up Jiwon, chew it up and choke it down,” his own voice speaks into his ear, the tone commanding and dangerous, “swallow it and burn it up. You're so much better than this; let me show you.”  
  
One finger becomes three and Bobby thrusts his hips up off the bed, fucks himself down onto his own hand, desperate (for relief, and for the memory of how he used to be). The stretch is both painful and blissful, a fire that heats his entire body one second, ice that gives him goosebumps the next.  
  
The hand leaves his mouth and grabs his chin, tight fingers holding his head in place.  
  
“You're so weak and I'm so strong; I'm everything you need to become.”  
  
Bobby tries to nod but his own hand prevents him from doing so. Instead he gives a moan of assent, breath hitching in his throat when he feels a finger press against his prostate, and his eyes close momentarily before he hears his own voice again.  
  
“Look at me.”  
  
He opens his eyes and stares back up into his own face and suddenly it's too much, he panics and he can't breathe and this is so wrong it's wrong it needs to stop _how does he stop it--_  
  
“Shh,” the shush of his own voice surrounds him, lulls him, and his own lips press down against his mouth, an exchange of breath between his two bodies. The fingers slide in and out of him at an increased pace, the constant flick of his prostate building up into something warm in the pit of his stomach, and he's briefly aware of what's happening before the fingers are pulled away.  
  
“Oh no, Jiwon,” he hears, “no, not yet.”  
  
His head is back against the pillow and he looks down, watches as his own reflection strokes itself, licks his lips without realizing it.  
  
“Look at him, can you do that for me?”  
  
Bobby follows his own instruction, turning his head to the right, eyes falling on Hanbin's peacefully sleeping form.  
  
A second later and there's a breath tickling his ear. “You'd better be quiet. Don't let him hear you.”  
  
A second after that and he's being stretched in a way that's both familiar and unfamiliar, wonderful and terrifying and he wants to scream but he can't; wants to curse but can't.  
  
Hanbin sighs in his sleep and Bobby reaches a hand towards him, desperate to touch him.  
  
But his fingers are snatched away by his own hand.  
  
“Look at him but _do not_ touch him,” his voice is low and threatening and it makes him so hard; “this is about you right now, about making yourself better. He can feel it, even though he's asleep. He can sense that I'm here, he knows that I'm setting you right, that I'm fucking you back to yourself.”  
  
Bobby looks straight ahead again, his own face looming dark and beautiful, sharp and chiseled, carved from stone, the very foundation of everything he's supposed to be. He shivers as his own fingers travel lightly over his chest, fingers tweaking his nipples sharply, and he _almost_ cries out before he remembers Hanbin sleeping next to him.  
  
Hanbin is usually a deep sleeper (overwork and exhaustion can be a good combination at times) but Bobby is confident the slightest noise will wake him up right now, and he doesn't know what Hanbin would do if he saw this. Bobby doesn't want to scare him away.  
  
“You've gotten so soft, Jiwon. That's not what he wants, it's not _who_ he wants. I am who he wants.”  
  
Bobby's legs are pushed up in a way he's never experienced before, he's got himself rolled up into a little ball, knees almost touching his shoulders (he didn't know he could be bent like this, didn't know he was this flexible) and he almost screams when he slams down into himself, he feels like he's being ripped open—and maybe he is, maybe he's taking himself apart piece by piece, rebuilding—and he can't do anything, can't say anything, can't touch anything.  
  
“Look at me. Don't hide from this, Jiwon.”  
  
He meets his own stony gaze again, shivers at the look in his own eyes and wonders—is this how Hanbin sees him?  
  
The thought makes his head spin, makes him reach for himself, fingers closing around his cock, pumping in rhythm with _himself--  
  
_ “Don't even think about coming until I tell you to.”  
  
Bobby nods, bites his lip to keep the whimper inside that he wants to let out. God, this is _so hot_ but so wrong, so completely wrong, to the extent that he can barely fathom just _how wrong_ it truly is--  
  
“You think you're good enough to be his _oppa?_ You think you deserve it?”  
  
_No, I know I don't--_  
  
“Of course you know that, I know! I know _everything_ you're thinking, Jiwon.”  
  
Bobby's legs are up over his shoulders, ankles locked, and he's still fisting his own cock, still fighting down the urge to moan loud and lewd.  
  
“I can hear it, you're screaming in your own head and I can hear it. It's so beautiful.”  
  
His lips are caught up again and this time his tongue meets his own tongue and his thighs press in around his own waist, and everything is confusing, his position keeps changing without anyone moving, like his _other self_ can alter time and reality both to his liking.  
  
Of course he can. This isn't real.  
  
The kiss gets deeper, the tongue more forceful, Bobby can barely catch his breath it feels like all the air is being sucked out of his mouth— _is this how Hanbin feels?_  
  
There's a hand around his neck now, squeezing, it's so tight, as tight as--  
  
As tight as what? As tight as Hanbin?  
  
He can't breathe. His fingers pry at the hand locked around his throat, fight with it to get oxygen, but he can't budge it, can't move it, can't--  
  
“Breathe, Jiwon.”  
  
He draws in a breath, his hands tighten around his cock.  
  
“You wanna cum, Jiwon?”  
  
_Oh God, yes!_  
  
“What do you call me?”  
  
_Oppa._  
  
The orgasm hits him like a tidal wave; he almost feels like he's drowning in it, fighting for breath as his eyes open up to stars amongst the darkness. He sighs, loud and explicit and _obvious._  
  
And then he wakes up.  
  
“Good morning!” Hanbin's cheery voice greets him, and Bobby stares at him in surprise. Hanbin's further down the bed in between his legs, wiping his mouth with the comforter. Did he just...?  
  
Seconds ago it was his own reflection he would have been staring into, his own face looking down at him. But now...  
  
“You were moaning something wicked in your sleep!” Hanbin grins, “I thought about waking you up and letting you fuck me again, but I decided I'd be nice and blow you instead.”  
  
What?  
  
Hanbin's staring at him with an odd expression, and Bobby wonders what sort of look is on his own face right now?  
  
“Who were you dreaming about, anyway?” Hanbin asks, playfully suspicious, “it better have been me, because if you were having that kind of a dream about _someone else,_ ahh I won't be happy!”  
  
How would Bobby even begin to explain his dream to Hanbin? _Sorry, babe, my moaning woke you up because I was getting my ass stuffed by myself--_  
  
“Are you okay, hyung?”  
  
_Hyung_. Hanbin doesn't call him that anymore (at least not in private, and sometimes Hanbin even slips up and calls him oppa in public) and for some reason _that_ sets Bobby off, makes him feel like a different person than who he was the night before.  
  
“I thought I told you not to call me hyung anymore?” Bobby scolds, and Hanbin gives him a little shit-eating grin, the playfulness in his eyes is screaming _make me,_ it's a challenge—it's a second chance. Hanbin is still _his._  
  
All Bobby has to do is reach out and _claim him._  
  
“Come here.” Bobby commands, and he doesn't have to listen to himself to hear the change in his tone of voice. He can see it in the way Hanbin's eyes light up, in the eagerness of his smile. Hanbin doesn't move, though, because as patient and understanding as he's been lately, this is what he's been chasing. This is what he wants.  
  
“I said _come here._ ” Bobby repeats, and without warning he reaches out and grabs Hanbin by the arms, drags him down until his back hits the sheets and Bobby straddles him and he knows it was all in his head. Well, _of course_ it was in his head, but the self-doubt and fear was all his own doing, none of it was real, none of it was ever valid.  
  
The steel in the set of his gaze says everything Hanbin needs him to say, and Bobby sees it reflected back to him tenfold in the warmth of Hanbin's own expression. It's the sort of look that makes Bobby feel like Superman.  
  
“What did I tell you to call me?” Bobby asks him, his expression hard and his tone scolding, but it's _exactly_ what Hanbin wants.  
  
Bobby leans down closer, he doesn't stop until he's inches away from Hanbin's face, and that's when Hanbin answers him.  
  
“Oppa.”  
  
He says it with all the warmth of the sun on a hot summer's day, and Bobby knows that he deserves every bit of affection behind Hanbin's words (both the ones he says out loud, and the ones expressed through body language alone) and he knows that above everything else, he _is_ good enough. Hanbin is perfect and there really aren't many people in the world who deserve to be loved by him, but Bobby _knows_ that he's one of those people who does.  
  
If he ever forgets again, Hanbin will be there to tell him.  
  
And if Hanbin isn't there, well, Bobby's subconscious has got a pretty stellar back up plan.  
  
“Mm, that's right,” Bobby replies, and despite the fact that Hanbin _just_ finished sucking his dick, Bobby feels like he's got all the energy in the world.  
  
Hanbin can tell. He squirms beneath him, raises his hands up to rest on the back of Bobby's neck, and his knees press in against Bobby's waist, but Bobby's stuck on his eyes. Hanbin really does have the best eyes.  
  
“I missed you.” There are unspoken things in Hanbin's words, but Bobby catches them and understands them and honestly—he agrees.  
  
Bobby brushes his nose against Hanbin's neck, tongue lapping lightly at his skin, and he can practically feel the desire burning its way through Hanbin's skin.  
  
“I missed me too.”  
  
Bobby's fingers crawl down Hanbin's skin and every flinch makes Bobby's grin grow wider, and Hanbin's whimpering beneath him in a way he hasn't done in a while (which Bobby admits is his own fault, but that's okay, because he's back now) and Bobby snakes his fingers inside Hanbin's sleep pants, closes his fist over Hanbin's dick (that's already hard and leaking) and he grins down at him.  
  
“Tell oppa what you want, baby.”  
  
Hanbin squirms again and thrusts up into Bobby's fist.  
  
“You know what I want.” Hanbin's voice is muffled into his arm, which Bobby pries away from his face.  
  
“Oppa wants to hear you say it, baby.”  
  
Hanbin's weak for Bobby's demanding voice, and he obeys without question.  
  
“Fuck me, please,” Hanbin pleads, “fuck me hard.”  
  
“Mm, I thought so,” Bobby replies, smirking down at him, “Oppa hasn't been fucking you properly lately, has he?” Hanbin shakes his head and Bobby gives him a soft smile full of apology and promise to make up for it. “You've been a good boy, though, so patient and understanding. Oppa's going to give you exactly what you want. Are you still stretched out for me?”  
  
Hanbin nods and tightens his hands on Bobby's skin, sliding from his neck to his shoulders, hiking his legs up around Bobby's back, and Bobby's so damn _hungry_ for him.  
  
“Any last words?” Bobby asks playfully, positioning himself so his dick is shoved snugly up against Hanbin's hole, and he can't wait to fuck him, feels like he could spend all damn day in bed fucking him.  
  
Hanbin's expression is beaming pure joy, bathing Bobby in the warm glow of his affection.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
And Bobby grins, because _he knows,_ he knows and he's never going to doubt those feelings ever again.

 


End file.
